Sufjan Stevens’ eighth record is a discordant head trip. He is tired and worn thin. He wrestles with inner and national demons, his weary gaze moving beyond the personal to the cultural, deeply exasperated about the state of our discontent. “I have changed,” he said. “I’ve grown old and world-weary. I’m exhausted. I’m disenchanted. I’m a curmudgeon.” For the first time, Sufjan says, “I’m speaking to you. You are the subject of this record. You, the listener.”
He reaches for love in the chaos, but the chaos overwhelms. The music seemingly swallows up his best intentions in America’s post-fact and conspiratorial world. The Ascension substantially modifies his Age of Adz electronics to heighten our troubling descent; it is glitchy, frenetic, and digressive. “Lamentations” skitters across the floor with bleeps and disembodied vocals. “Die Happy” repeats its only lyrics (“I wanna die happy”) as the track grows increasingly darker and claustrophobic, waves of synths and drumbeats and choral harmonies rushing in, building up, and squeezing the air out of the room. Sufjan asks on “Ativan”: Is it all for nothing? Is it all part of a plan? The disquieting track is aptly named after a drug that treats anxiety. (“Put the lotion in the basket / Now jump off the overpass / It takes some time before the skin comes off.”) “Death Star” is a retro-future house dirge, something that could be played in the alleyways of Bladerunner’s Los Angeles. (“Trash talk, violate / Witness me resist the hate / It’s your own damn head on that plate / Death star into space.”)
Amid the confrontations, there are moments of pop splendor. “Video Game” is a 80’s synth-pop ode to self-empowerment and defying the culture, easily the most radio-friendly track Sufjan has ever recorded. (“I don’t care if everyone else is into it / I don’t care if it’s a popular refrain / I don’t wanna be a puppet in a theater / I don’t wanna play your video game.”) “Sugar” is a melancholy but buoyant dance track, channeling Prince and pleading for connection during serious relationship troubles. “Tell Me You Love Me” seeks solace in a radiant electro-R&B slow jam. (“My love, I’ve lost my faith in everything / Tell me you love me anyway / My love, I feel myself unraveling / Tell me you love me anyway.”)
Dismissing concerns about being didactic or preachy, Sufjan notes this simple truth: “I’ve been doing this for 20 years, and how many songs have I written about my own personal grievances [with] judgment against myself, self-deprecation, and sorrow? I was like, No, I don’t want to write another song about my dead mother. I want to write a song that is casting judgment against the world.”
But the most powerful moment is where Sufjan casts judgment against himself, too, second guessing everything he’s ever done. The arresting title track is a staggering confessional and may be the saddest song he has written (which is saying something), mostly because he considers giving up, wondering whether his holy aesthetic efforts have been nothing but performative and immaterial. Is this the disciple’s path? Look at where we are at! We chose this! Unlike “Impossible Soul,” which closes out The Age of Adz, there is no immediate catharsis.
Show them what is right, show them what is blessed
But now it strikes me far too late again
That I was asking for too much of everyone around me
To think I was acting like a believer when I was just angry and depressed
And to everything there is no meaning, a season of pain and hopelessness
I shouldn’t have looked for revelation, I should have resigned myself to this
I thought I could change the world around me
I thought I could change the world for best
I thought I was called in convocation
I thought I was sanctified and blessed
That everything comes from consummation, and everything comes with consequence
And I did it all with exultation while you did it all with hopelessness
Yes, I did it all with adoration while you killed it off with all of your holy mess
What now?
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